


When Borrowing Kisses

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Birthday, F/M, Requited Love, Romance, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 07:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16488623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: Just a little something I managed to throw together today in honour of Harry's birthday. Set some months after Havensworth, but ignoring canon (Colin's still with us) and skipping Ruth's exile altogether. Characters belong to Kudos and the rest is my own work. Positive, constructive reviews are always much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.





	When Borrowing Kisses

_Wednesday, 31 st October 2006 – The Grid_

 

She'd pressed the snooze button on her alarm one too many times and now she's running late. She'd barely had time for a quick shower, then tea with a slice of toast covered in jam, which had turned out to be a huge mistake as she'd found out when some jam had slipped off her toast and onto her blouse – the last decent top she has left, owing to her trip down to Exeter to see her mother last weekend, the train delays, and the fact that she hasn't had a chance to catch up on the washing yet.

She does what she can with the sponge at the sink to rescue it, but it's no use; she's going to have to change it. Perhaps she should put the washing on before she goes out to avoid the same problem tomorrow, she thinks, so finishing up her breakfast in record time, she pulls off her blouse, quickly scrubs the stain with some soap and throws it in the washing machine with the rest of the laundry, adding soap and fabric softener and turning it on before gulping down the rest of her tea and dashing upstairs in her bra to find another top, only to discover that the only remaining, decent option is a cream t-shirt with a wide neck that will just have to do. She'll hide it under her cardigan; the Grid's thermostat is set too low for her anyway.

Quickly she pulls it on and rushes back downstairs to grab her things, and is out the door with just enough time to hurry to the bus stop and catch the 7:10. With any luck, she'll only be a few minutes late, maximum half an hour.

When she finally arrives, the Grid is a flurry of activity and, no sooner has she walked through the pods, when Adam bears down on her with news of multiple bomb threats that have just come in. “It's probably a hoax, what with it being Halloween, but we need to make certain.”

“Of course,” she says, nodding seriously. “I hope it is. A hoax I mean, what with it being your birthday too.” She smiles shyly up at him. “Happy Birthday, Adam.”

“Thank you, Ruth.” He smiles tightly and turns away, and she can't help the way her heart goes out to him. _Poor Adam._ He must be feeling so lonely today without Fiona to celebrate. Her mind drifts to her own birthday and how she'll feel when it comes around again in April and there is no present from Harry. His thoughtful gifts have meant the world to her and the thought of not having them any more leaves her feeling incredibly sad, all of a sudden. Why did the others have to find out about them? It had been so wonderful and so promising a beginning. She sighs and turns towards her station, setting aside her things and removing her coat, her mind in turmoil again over her decision on how to treat tomorrow.

It's his birthday and she hasn't bought him a present. It feels wrong and mean and not at all what she wants to be doing, but she also doesn't want him to feel like she's toying with his emotions. She got him a card instead – one she hopes will convey that she wants to remain on good terms, that she still cares about him, but that she cannot give him more. Every time she's tempted, the memory of the others' reaction is enough to have her turning away again. And to his credit, Harry has taken the hint and is no longer attempting to sway her. He's professional and as distant as he is with everyone else now. There's no longer any softness in his gaze and certainly no looks like the one he'd given her at Havensworth, a few months ago now, not even when they're alone on the Grid together.

It hurts more than she cares to admit, but she knows its her own doing and, try as she might, she can't quite bring herself to be brave and take the chance on him, turn her life upside down like that, risk everything. Instead, she just avoids him, lessening the pain by going home early to be with Fidget and his new brother, Tiger.

She turns on her computer and goes off to make tea, sternly telling herself to stop second guessing herself. _What's done is done and it's for the best._ And before long she's back at her station, utterly absorbed in her work – searching, connecting, weaving the threads together, cross-referencing and untangling fact from fiction, ferreting out that crucial bit of intel that'll crack the case wide open.

By the time the morning briefing takes place, she has some important finds to share, but not nearly enough info to identify the culprits, or know whether they are serious or not. Adam sends Zaf and Ros out to meet assets, Malcolm is tasked with liaising with the police, and she, Jo, and Colin are sent back to continue their search for more info. The worrying part is that they do not yet know what the targets are, just the deadline – 9pm tonight – and the fact that there are four devices in prominent locations.

Harry's not at all pleased with their progress and he leaves the meeting in an even worse temper than he arrived, especially after Zaf says, “Let's _do_ this. If we get these bastards in time, it's drinks at the George tonight to celebrate Adam's birthday,” Malcolm chimes in, “And Harry's if we stay past midnight,” and Colin finishes with, “And _then_ we can do it all again tomorrow. The drinks I mean. To celebrate your birthday, Harry.” Harry just regards him stonily before getting up and leaving the room.

“What did I say?” Colin looks around helplessly.

“Don't worry about it, Mate,” Adam replies, clapping him on the shoulder. “He's always in a bad mood these days. Let's get back to work.”

His words make her heart constrict and, at the same time, her anxiety suddenly sky-rocket, but when she looks around, no one's staring at her or exchanging knowing looks, she's not the focus of anyone's attention. No one's gossiping any more, she realises with relief. She and Harry and their possible relationship – non-relationship more like – are no longer of interest to their colleagues. They've accepted that nothing's going on and she suddenly finds herself wondering how they feel about that. Are they relieved, happy, sad about it?

Everyone is gathering their things and leaving the room now, so she shakes herself free of these thoughts and follows them out, telling herself that they're probably indifferent. Why would they care about her and Harry's personal life? Danny and Zoe used to be flat-mates. Jo and Zaf are now. They might even be dating each other and no one would be any the wiser. In fact, it would be rather sweet, she thinks and wonders if that's what most of them thought when they found out about her and Harry. Had they been pleased for them? What had Malcolm said? “Best of luck to you. I think it's wonderful. I think you make a smashing couple.” At the time, she'd freaked out, but now that she thinks about it, his words had been quite encouraging; he'd been pleased for them. Had the others felt the same?

She frowns, taking her seat at her station. Had she got the wrong end of the stick? All this time, have they all been secretly wishing that she and Harry would make it work? Not Ros, she tells herself. Ros certainly wasn't pleased. She's probably pleased _now_ that it's clear there's nothing going on between them. She lifts her gaze, looking for her, her eyes finding her just as she steps into the pods. She can't see her face, but she suddenly feels very angry. All the people she loves – Malcolm, Adam, Zaf, Jo, Colin – all her wonderful colleagues had been rooting for her and Harry; she's suddenly sure of it. And what had she done? She'd gone and disappointed all of them, hurt Harry and herself, and who had she made happy? Ros. That's who. _Ros!_

“Alright, Ruth?” Jo asks, startling her.

“Sorry?”

“Are you alright? You look a bit...”

“Yes. I'm fine. Thanks,” she says rather abruptly, turning away, only to realise how rude she's been and quickly turn back again. “Sorry. I'm just...”

“Thinking of ways to do away with Ros?” Jo asks with a mischievous smile.

She stares at her in surprise.

“Not that I blame you. She can be really annoying sometimes, can't she?”

For a moment, Ruth hesitates, longing to confide in her, pour out her heart and ask her what to do, feeling so lost and alone and helplessly confused about everything. But the moment passes and she merely smiles and agrees, “Yes, though I imagine she'd probably say the same about us.”

Jo laughs. “But she'd be wrong, wouldn't she? I don't find you the least bit annoying.”

She smiles. “I don't find you annoying either. In fact, I'm very glad you joined MI-5.”

“Me too. I love it here,” she says, beaming. Then she says something about getting back to work and they each turn to their computers, Ruth feeling a lot more centred suddenly and able to focus on bringing these would be bombers to justice.

 

* * *

 

A few, long hours later, she finds herself at the George with the others, a glass of cider in her hand, feeling relaxed and happy beside Jo and Malcolm. The teens responsible for the bomb hoax have had their Halloween ruined and are currently in custody, Adam has joined them here after wrapping things up with the Met, looking a lot more happy than usual, the pint of beer he's consumed already doing wonders to relax him. Zaf is being his usual cheerful self, entertaining them all with his ready humour, Jo keeping up with him with alacrity, Colin coming out of his shell a bit, Malcolm being Malcolm, and Ros... Well, Ros hasn't really said much, sitting beside Adam, taking everything in as she sips at her drink, occasionally interjecting some dry, sarcastic comment.

It's warmer here than on the Grid, and Ruth soon feels the need to remove her cardigan, draping it over the back of her chair and taking another sip of her drink. She's completely forgotten about her issues with her wardrobe this morning, until Ros rudely reminds her of them when she says, “Nice shirt, Ruth.”

She glances at her quickly and looks down, confused for a moment before she remembers her accident with the jam this morning, her cheeks already heating even before her eyes take in the full extent of the embarrassing situation she's managed to land herself in. When she'd quickly tried on this shirt in the morning, it had been inside-out and she'd decided it would do before turning it the right way round again on her way down the stairs, failing to remember that this shirt, while in possession of a rather nice line at the collar, also has writing on the front of it and that's why she hardly ever wears it.

“Can I borrow a kiss? I promise to give it back later,” it proclaims in fancy, gold writing.

“Laundry day,” she offers lamely, not quite daring to meet Ros's gaze as she feels herself blush deeply. _Damn her!_ Christ, but she hates how Ros can intimidate and embarrass her so easily.

Beside her Jo squeals in delight, declares, “I love it!” and promptly wraps her right arm round her waist and presses a quick kiss against her cheek. “As many as you need, Ruth,” she says, happily.

Adam's grinning at her and Zaf looks all set to make some cheeky comment, but before he can open his mouth, Ros beats him to it.

“Oh look. Here come's Harry. I wonder what he'll-”

“Don't,” Jo interrupts her, sparing Ruth the rest of Ros's narky comment. “Don't be mean,” she admonishes, her arm giving Ruth a gentle squeeze. “Go find a chair for Harry instead, or something.”

Ros's eyes narrow at that, but she doesn't respond, slowly unfolding herself from her chair and crossing to another table to borrow a spare seat for Harry.

“Well done, Jo,” Malcolm murmurs on her other side, but she can bear the humiliation no longer.

“Excuse me,” she says, rising quickly to her feet and grabbing her things, weaving her way through the tables to the bathroom, her heart pounding, emotions overwhelming as she fights to maintain her composure. Will it always be like this? Will she _never_ live it down?

She only just managed to lock herself in a cubicle before the tears come, months worth of pain pouring out of her, of grief, of loss and uncertainty. By the time she's through crying, she feels utterly drained and barely has the energy to stand and take herself back home. She splashes cold water on her face, dries it as best she can, reapplies some make-up, slips her cardigan and coat on and prepares to leave. She can't face any of them now, so she takes a deep breath to steel herself and steps out of the ladies', glancing towards the others to see if they've noticed, and finding Jo's keen eyes turned in her direction. She sees her look at Ros and say something, but she doesn't linger to watch them long, turning away with a quiet oath, feeling too drained for this and hoping she can make it out the door and onto a bus before they can catch up with her.

Fat chance. She's barely made it to the door when Jo stops her.

“Ruth, wait,” she says, drawing level with her and reaching for her elbow.

“Let me go, Jo, please,” she murmurs, eyes downcast, hoping to hide how upset she is, especially from Ros who has stopped right behind Jo's shoulder.

“Ros has something to say.” Her voice is firm. “Here. Let's step outside for a moment.”

So they do, stepping out into the cold night.

“Ros,” Jo says, expectantly.

Ros glares at Jo, but Ruth misses it, focused as she is on her shoes. “I apologise, Ruth. My comment was uncalled for.”

“And?”

“Unkind. What's going on between you and Harry is none of my business.”

Ruth lifts her head abruptly, her gaze full of anger and pain. “Nothing's going on between me and Harry. Alright?”

Ros shrugs and turns away, going back inside the pub.

“Don't let her get to you, Ruth,” Jo implores her, taking her hands in hers. “She's still angry and upset about her father. None of us are happy to see you hurting – neither you, nor Harry. I thought it was sweet. I'm so sorry, Ruth. It's all my fault. If I hadn't opened my big mouth, none of this would have happened.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, Jo's words taking her by surprise.

“I told the others,” she admits softly, dropping her gaze and squeezing her hands more tightly. “I was so excited that I didn't think how hard it would make things for you. And now you're upset and Harry's angry and unhappy, and it's all my fault. I'll never forgive myself.”

Ruth sighs, feeling even more drained and low. “It's not your fault, Jo. Really. Harry and I... it isn't meant to be. That's all.”

Jo lifts her gaze, frowning. “Why not? You seemed so... natural together. You were a good team – completely on the same wavelength, finishing each other's sentences, like Adam and Fiona – and now... It's not just you and Harry that are suffering from the fall out, you know. The team's hurting too and it's affecting our work to not have the two of you working closely together any more.”

She's a little taken aback to hear Jo speak so candidly on the subject, but she's also a little relieved. She's needed someone to confide in and talk to about this for months now. “Exactly, Jo. Imagine how much worse it would be if we'd had more than just one date before things fell apart.”

“Why would they fall apart?” she asks in genuine bewilderment. She's got such an optimistic heart, has Jo.

“Why? There are a million reasons why!” she replies, sounding a little exasperated. “He's head of section, he's my boss, he's used to getting his own way, he's often gruff and grumpy, probably set in his ways, he drinks too much-”

“Charming. I can see why you wanted to go out with him in the first place.” The twinkle in Jo's eyes makes her smile and sigh in defeat.

“He's quite lovely really, once you get to know him, you know? He's... charming and... kind-hearted. He's intelligent, well read, well travelled. He's a good story-teller and he has a lovely sense of humour. We can even converse in four different languages. How often do you find that?”

Jo merely smiles at her.

“I'm scared, Jo.”

“Scared of what?”

“The scrutiny of others. What they'll say. Being the centre of attention like that... I hate it, but I can't avoid it, dating a man in his position. I'll have to go to fancy dos as his plus one. Can you imagine?”

“Malcolm says you would knock them dead and I believe him.”

She makes a dismissive sound. “What does he know about it?”

“He said he saw you all dressed up once for an op. He posed as you brother, he said, and you were magnificent.”

She blushes, remembering their outing to meet John Fortescue and feeling so grateful that Malcolm told Jo it was an op. “Yes, well, Malcolm doesn't know what he's talking about.”

“I think you grossly underestimate yourself, Ruth. Someone as smart and powerful as Harry wouldn't fall for someone less than remarkable. I'm not telling you what to do, but if it was me, I'd take it. I'd take the chance because you seem to genuinely like him and admire him, and from the outside, you look made for each other - not to mention the four languages thing. How often does that happen? I'm still waiting to meet someone I like, admire, have the hots for, and who feels the same way about me. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity.” She smiles and presses an impulsive kiss against her cheek. “Think about it.” She hesitates then adds, “Are you coming back in?”

Ruth shakes her head. “I'm going to catch the bus.”

“Alright. Good night then. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Jo, and thank you.”

“Any time. Same goes for those kisses,” she adds with a cheeky grin. “Pay me back later.”

“I will,” she says, smiling and turning away as Jo swings the pub door open.

She takes a few steps down the road, heading back towards her bus stop, her mind full to bursting, but she's not gone more than two yards when someone steps out from the shadows in front of her, almost making her heart stop. Her hand flies to her throat in fear, but before she can yell, she recognises him and his voice as he murmurs, “Don't scream, Ruth. It's only me.”

“Harry,” she breathes in relief, relaxing her grip on her coat. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.”

“What are you doing out here? I thought you were in the pub with the others.”

“I was, but then I realised that you were leaving and the only reason I turned up tonight was to see you.” His eyes are doing that thing they used to do, melting and calling to her, begging her, beseeching, and promising so much if only she would give him a chance.

Her breath arrests for a moment, fingers flexing in her coat, standing on the precipice, Jo's words ringing in her ears.

“Puedes tomar prestados tantos besos como quieras, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, taking a step closer. “Du musst sie nicht zurückgeben.”

“I don't speak German,” she replies a little breathlessly, certain now that he overheard every word of her conversation with Jo and that one of the others told him the exact reason for her abrupt departure.

He smiles softly. “How is that? Someone as fluent in as many languages as you. Why not German?”

“I've never liked the way it sounds.”

He hums. “Très bien. Nous parlerons français. J'ai dit, tu n'as pas besoin de les retourner.”

“Et si je veux les retourner?”

“Mon coeur chantera,” he whispers and leans in, softly pressing his lips against hers. 

“Je t'aime,” she says against his lips, the words tumbling effortlessly from her own as she lets go and falls into him, arms slipping over his shoulders as he pulls her in close, his lips claiming hers in a fierce kiss. 

“Oh ma chérie,” he whispers when they come up for air, his face turned towards hers as he holds her close, her head resting on his shoulder, face buried in his neck, breathing in his warm, musky scent, and feeling remarkably at peace. “Je t'adore,” he confesses softly. 

S he feels tears sting her eyes  and tightens her grip on hi m.

“Don't be scared, Ruth. I'll protect you. I promise. No matter what happens, I'll protect you.”

“Don't make promises you cannot keep, Harry,” she says, pulling back to look at him. “You and I both know how it works, how quickly things can change, how little you can do to stop the worst from happening, however hard you try. I don't need empty promises.”

“They're not empty, Ruth.” His voice is gruff, a little angry, a little offended, earnest and compelling.

“I know. That's not what I meant.”

“You told Jo you were scared.”

“I am,” she admits. “I'm scared of what people will say about me, and you, and what will happen when...” She tails off.

“I'll not tire of you, Ruth,” he says, effortlessly reading her mind. “I'm serious about us. Granted, I don't have a particularly good track record with relationships, but if this doesn't work out, it won't be for want of trying, for want of _wanting_ it to work – not on my part. These last few months have been hell for me, seeing you every day, knowing I can't have what I want, that I've not only lost the promise of more, of us, the Grand Tour together, but also the friendship we had before. You're the only one who buys me a present for my birthday now, Ruth. Did you know that? The knowledge that tomorrow I'll receive nothing from no one...”

“Oh Harry,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms tightly around him again. “I'll get you something in the morning,” she says, sealing her promise with a kiss against his stubble covered cheek.

“All I want is you, Ruth,” he replies, making her smile at his corny line.

“Are you propositioning me, Harry Pearce?” she asks, frowning at him in mock offence.

“No! I didn't mean it like that. I meant that I want a chance with you, I want to take you to dinner again,” he explains quickly, the alarm in his expression and his voice, most endearing, making her chuckle.

“Dinner tomorrow then?” she offers.

He smiles, the distant sound of Big Ben striking midnight echoing in the background. “Tonight,” he corrects softly.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” she replies.

* * *

 

_Translation of Spanish, German, and French_

“Puedes tomar prestados tantos besos como quieras, Ruth,” - _You can borrow as many kisses as you want, Ruth_

“Du musst sie nicht zurückgeben.” -  _You don't have to return them._

“Très bien. Nous parlerons français. J'ai dit, tu n'as pas besoin de les retourner.” -  _Fine. We will speak French. I said, you don't need to return them._

“Et si je veux les retourner?” - _And if I want to return them?_

“Mon coeur chantera,”  -  _My heart will sing_

“Je t'aime,” -  _I love you_

“Oh ma chérie,” -  _Oh my darling_

 “J e t'adore,”  -  _I adore you_

 


End file.
